


Rose

by gutterandthestars



Series: Post Crusades Pining [3]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: In Malta, M/M, Of all the bars in all the world, These noodles meet in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28597575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutterandthestars/pseuds/gutterandthestars
Summary: Written for the Twelvetide Drabble Challenge 2020/2021, for the prompt 'rose', on 6th January 2021.***Probably not that time in Malta. But the first time in Malta.***
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Post Crusades Pining [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2093658
Comments: 12
Kudos: 62
Collections: Twelvetide Drabbles 2020





	Rose

After thirty-odd years of Norman occupation, Malta is used to welcoming the Genoese. Nicolò sails into the port of Valetta on the good ship _Rosa di Genova_ , pays the captain of the vessel the second half of his fare and carries his belongings down to the dock. He shuffles out of the way of those unloading the serious cargo. With no destination yet in mind, he makes his way through the crowds to the row of stalls and eateries clustered at the edge of the harbour and finds himself a quiet corner in a nearby tavern to take stock. 

He’s had time on the journey to reflect on his future, but his first thought had been to get _away_ , and what he’s longing to run _to_ may be anywhere. There is no reason for Nicolò to think Yusuf is on this island, except perhaps that from now on, wherever he goes, he will always hope. 

They are meant to be together. Nicolò believes this with all his heart. What other reason for them to kill each other and then wake, unharmed? Last time they spoke, Yusuf told him to leave, but that was a long time ago. Nicolò has been living under a cloud these past years, but the sea voyage, though short enough, has begun to clear his skies. For the first time, Nicolò can sense the sun on his face. 

While nursing a weak beer and picking his bowl of olives, he hears the call to prayer issue from the local mosques. It sends a shiver of warmth down his spine, and he’s shocked with something that feels almost like joy, and a realization that whatever existence he had in Genoa, it wasn’t a _life_. He can sense another part of himself uncurling. He heard these sounds many times while he was travelling with Yusuf, and he’s missed it. He’s _missed_ it. 

Nicolò orders another drink and sits with this feeling for a while. Nothing has changed. He may spend the next thousand years wandering the earth, searching for Yusuf. But even without him, being here, in a place with a little of his culture and a little of Yusuf’s, this feels like a place he can stay a while. 

Nicolò smiles to himself.

He’s startled from his thoughts by a crash and loud exclamation from across the room.

***

Yusuf found there were drawbacks to his family’s merchant business being quite so successful, as the years went by and he watched his family age around him. Unless he wanted to disappear somewhere truly distant, to a place where nobody shared his culture, let alone his acquaintance, he was forever going to be running into people he knew, or people who knew people he knew. 

Malta, then, was his latest and possibly his most decent option for staying a few years in one place. The Norman conquest had dampened the Al-Kaysani enthusiasm for too much contact with the island some time ago, and the prevalence of Genoese noblemen with swift and well-armed boats was both an annoyance and a hope for Yusuf, who still cursed his damnable timing. He had found a measure of peace in his years since Nicolò left him, but he was never far from Yusuf’s thoughts.

Yusuf is returning from prayers at the mosque via the seafront when he notices a Genoese galley has moored in the harbour. He wanders the docks and sees a few pale faces and paler eyes, but none he recognizes.

“The _Rose of Genova_ just docked”, says an old sailor, when he asks around. Yusuf’s heart skips a beat, and he berates himself as a fool, then shakes his head in self-mockery. So many years, and yet still he hopes. He’s pathetic. And yet. Worth a try.

It’s hot, the sun high in the sky, and he stops for a drink at a bar he knows will give him water without getting too snooty about it. He greets the owner, Maryam, and she gestures to one of her boys who brings Yusuf a cup.

It’s habit, turning to survey the crowd of lunchtime regulars and travellers who are just passing through.

He doesn’t expect what he sees, which is a lean man with a very familiar profile propped up against a table, cradling a cup of wine. He has a travelling pack tucked beside him, and is wearing a smile Yusuf has longed to see for decades.

Yusuf drops his beaker.

He’s not really sure what happens next, but all eyes in the bar swivel his way. Yusuf only has eyes for the man across the room, who gasps and staggers to his feet when he turns and sees Yusuf’s face. 

Their eyes meet. Yusuf’s breath is caught in this throat. 

He watches through suddenly blurry eyes, as Nicolò’s – _Nicolò’s_ – hand reaches out towards him. Yusuf sees the tremor in his pale fingers, the self-conscious hesitation as he draws his hand back. The smile has fallen from his face. 

“We got a problem here, Tayyib?” asks the bartender, Maryam’s nephew, glancing warily between Yusuf and Nicolò. He’s young and skinny but apparently willing to keep the peace even when faced with a large foreigner with a politely sheathed but still very obvious sword.

“No. No,” croaks Yusuf, sparing the boy a flap of the hand, but not taking his eyes off the man who is standing before him, pale eyes glassy and wide, uncertain. “No, he’s a friend,” Yusuf says, and at that proclamation Nicolò sobs and covers his mouth with his hands. 

What is Yusuf to do? He steps forward and embraces the gift that stands before him, gripping Nicolò’s shoulders and leaning their foreheads together.

“My friend,” groans Yusuf. “I never should have let you stray from my side, this is a miracle, oh my Nicolò, I have missed you,” he says, tears wetting his face. Nicolò looks up, and steps back just enough so they can both focus.

“I… I cannot fault you for sending me away,” he says, diffidently.

“It is only that I did not know how to ask you to stay,” admits Yusuf. Nicolò wilts before him.

“I would not have known how to accept. I should not have done, even if I had. I’m sorry Yusuf, I’m so sorry…” he cries. He looks so miserable that Yusuf can’t bear it, and takes him into his arms. Around them the patrons of the bar are slow clapping, catcalling and laughing. Maryam is eating nuts while her nephew looks baffled. Yusuf shakes his head, and folds Nicolò into his arms, so they’re standing chest to chest.

“I am only sorry it took us this long,” Yusuf whispers.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” says Nicolò, snuffling into his shoulder.

“How… how long have _you_ been here…?” asks Yusuf. Surely it is not months or years, and Yusuf has just missed him in passing all this time. Though it would be, he thinks, typical of his demons, to mock him thus.

“No, no, I just got here. Good timing,” gasps Nicolò, wetly, into Yusuf’s neck. “Blessed timing, truly.”

Yusuf buries his face in Nicolò’s shoulder, digs his fingers even more tightly into Nicolò’s tunic and laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thanks to @feministlib (on Twitter) / twelvetidemagistra (on here) for organising the Twelvetide Drabbles Challenge! This has been so life affirming. <3


End file.
